School librarians will run to you at conferences, thanking you for writing a story that speaks to students like George. Irate parents will leave one-star reviews on Amazon, claiming your book has an ­agenda. And there will be children — you know, the actual intended audience for “George” — who will send you an email, politely demanding a sequel.

You can’t blame them for asking. The memorable central character of “George” is unlike almost any protagonist out there — even if others in the story are stock characters of middle-grade books. (A harried single mom, a macho older brother, a sassy best girlfriend — archetypes, I hasten to add, I’ve relied on in my own novels.)

But “George” stands out for one contemporary twist: a fourth-grade production of “Charlotte’s Web” in which George dreams of playing Charlotte, the female spider, rather than Wilbur, the male pig. It’s not for political reasons; Charlotte is simply the role to which George most relates. With refreshingly little fanfare, Gino uses the “herself” pronoun to describe how George sees, well, herself — despite a birth certificate that says otherwise.

“George” may be the most right-now book imaginable. How do you talk to children about Caitlyn Jenner? Give them “George” (and watch “I Am Cait” together). Also, trust that when you tell a contemporary child that some people are born into a body they don’t identify with, most will blink, say, “O.K., cool,” and ask what’s for dinner.

Gino beautifully describes how George thinks about holding the ladder for her best friend, Kelly, after Kelly gets cast in the high-flying role George wants: She “would be Charlotte’s Charlotte, deeply hidden in the shadows.” Elsewhere, Gino uses escalating variations on an everyday word — “Oh,” then “Ohhh,” then “Ohhhhhhhhh” — to brilliantly depict the dawning way George’s older brother reacts to learning that his little bro is actually his kid sis. These moments are drawn with elegant restraint, even if other aspects of the book — like how George’s mom watches soap operas and George’s brother refers to “dirty magazines” — feel dated.

Using the theater as a backdrop, however, is both age-old and inspired. If outcasts escape into the theater in order to “be” other people, the opposite is also the case: Theater is the only place some kids can be themselves. The “understudy must go on” theme is deployed to lovely effect as George steps into the arachnid role she was born to play.

Gino’s choice of “Charlotte’s Web” resonates for another reason: Anyone who thinks children won’t believe that a boy knows he’s really a girl need only pick up “Charlotte” to be reminded that a barnful of talking animals never confused anyone.

After reading “George,” I pulled out my own dog-eared edition of E.B. White’s beloved novel and read this line: “Wilbur felt queer to be outside his fence, with nothing between him and the big world.” It brought to mind the ending of “George”: Kelly lets Melissa (George’s name for herself) ransack her wardrobe to get dolled up for a girls’ day on the town. But unlike Wilbur, Melissa is thrilled to venture outside her fence, where she feels like her truest self.

Tim Federle’s first novel for young adults, “The Great American Whatever,” will be published in March.